Small Gods, Small People
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The Easterlings worshiped Sauron as their god. The Variags worshiped more gods than could be counted. Both peoples had fought each other as much as they had the peoples of the West. But as Sauron gathered his forces for the Last War, the two peoples would have to come together. To fight for their liberation.


**Small Gods, Small People**

They were in Khand now.

Or specifically, what was part of Khand right now. Lu Shang had studied the scroll alongside the sword, and had quickly understood that the maps of the East, of Rhûn, Khand, and Near Harad, had borders that had changed over the millennia, so that inevitably, a map of this part of Arda could only be up to date for so long. He knew, as he led the column of horsemen across the sea of grass, that once this place was called Che Ra – an eastern province of Rhûn that had been lost to the Variags a century ago. Once, the Variags had all but ruled Rhûn. Once, Rhûn had nearly succeeded in exterminating the savages before Khan Khulai had driven them back to their cities. And thus, the cycle had repeated itself. Over, and over, and over. The sun rose, the sun set, the moon appeared, and blood watered the grass for each of the world's onlookers to behold.

He'd have been happy to keep the cycle going if it meant that Rhûn came out on top. But lords above him had declared otherwise, because one mightier than any of they had declared otherwise. A new sun was to rise in the East. A new day was to dawn. Grass further westward would be watered, and Arda would be made free. All he had to do was ride east, meet with Khan Janghati, and try and put this plan into practice. All in the knowledge that if he failed, the best outcome he could hope for was to be stationed in a border fort to the north, idly waving at leeches who still plied their wares with the towns of the long lake and the mountain, under the stony gaze of a false people.

The worst he could hope for was death, or so the Mouth of Sauron had claimed. Claimed with a grin perhaps, but Shang had no intention of taking that chance. So, he drew the column to a hold and waited on the crest of the hill. Grass to the north, grass to the south, grass to the west, and a hell of a lot of grass to the east. He frowned, and his bannerman, Fa Mushu, scowled.

"What a miserable place this is."

Shang smirked. "Are you only noticing that now?"

Mushu looked at him. "This is really what Lord Sauron wants?"

"So says his Mouth. The Mouth claims to speak for the lord. My lords believe the Mouth, so with their arm, they point me east to recruit savages."

Mushu nodded. "Well, so be it. I'm confident they picked the right man for the cause."

Was that an insult? Shang couldn't tell. He glanced back at his column of riders – fifteen men total, each in their bronze armour, half of them clutching their swords, and all of them looking in all directions. There was nowhere to hide on the plains of Khand, but such was the speed of the Variags, of the Wainriders, that even the finest horses in all of Rhûn couldn't hope to outpace them.

And hopefully they wouldn't have to, Shang reflected. Because approaching from the east, with five men in total, were Variags. Wearing their fur hats, wearing their fur coats and boots, iron swords sheathed at their belts, and bows slung over their backs. In essence, the finest horsemen Arda had seen, and for all their savagery, a people not to be underestimated. Even if they smelt worse than the dwarves, he reflected, as the Variags rode up to meet the Easterlings.

"You are of Khan Janghati?" Shang asked, speaking in Khandish.

The lead Variag rider, a man with crooked nose and broken tooth, scowled.

_Something I said?_

"Speak Canton," the rider said. Or tried to say. Mushu snorted and Shang shot him a look. Looking at the Variags, he wasn't the only one.

"Canton, Khandish, I speak both tongues," Shang said in his native language. "But if it sullies your tongue, I would speak with your khan."

The rider scowled at him.

"I said, I would speak with your khan," Shang repeated, switching his words to Khandish.

The Variag drew out his sword – a curved blade that was perfect for cutting down those on foot, if not those mounted. He pointed it at Shang, then Mushu. "You. Both. With me." He pointed the sword at the remaining Easterlings. "Your riders stay with mine."

"Like hell," Mushu murmured. He reached for his sword. The Variags drew theirs before his hand could reach the hilt.

"I'm sure that would be fine," Shang said. He looked at Mushu. "Wouldn't it?"

Mushu gave him "the look." Not wanting to see "the look," Shang looked at the Variag. "Fine. But if you plan to kill me in all manner of unpleasant ways, rest assured that death will come for your people a thousandfold."

The rider laughed. "The paleskin speaks of death? He sits on his horse with his fancy armour and fancy clothes, with his hair all fancy as well, and speaks of death?"

"I do, actually." Shang tapped the hilt of his sword. "Would you care for a demonstration? Bearing in mind that if your khan wants to kill me, I'm guessing he'd want to do it himself."

The rider snorted, before turning his horse around. Shang glanced at Mushu, who handed his banner to Wong Fei, before joining his lord in following the Variag.

"I hope you're right about this," he murmured.

"Doesn't matter if I'm right. Sauron demands. The Easterlings deliver."

"Deliver? Deliver to what end."

Shang scowled. "Deliveran_ce_." He kicked his horse to keep up the pace with the Variag. _Or so I hope._

* * *

As a child, Shang had visited the Temple of the Sun with his mother, deep in the city of Xi'an. Even now, as an adult, he'd never forgotten it.

Men were the children of the sun. They had emerged in the lands of the East, as the golden orb rose from the Gates of Morning to bring light to Arda. Some of them had fled from its glow, heading westward. Their features and culture corrupted by elf-fiends and the Valar, who had descended into savagery ever since. But those who had stayed put, had beheld the sun's glory. They had established villages, then cities, on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn. They had marched westward in a bid to liberate their kin, and had defended their lands when the Men of the West marched on theirs. With the sacrifice of Morgoth, the Valar had finally been driven away from Arda, even if the elf-spawn had not. And while Sauron the Liberator had given his patronage to the sons and daughters of Rhûn, even he could not stop the Breaking of the World. Where Númenor, cursed be its name, changed the nature of Arda itself. Gone were the Gates of Morning. Gone was the place where all Men should tread, to see the land of their birth. Gone was the old world, and thus was the new, as Númenor's bastard spawn of Gondor and Arnor rose to inflict even more misery upon West and East alike. 3000 years of blood and misery, which Sauron, now returned after his sacrifice in the Last Battle, would be brought to an end.

Sometimes, Shang didn't know what to make of it. After all, Sauron resided in Mordor, and had never once stepped foot in Rhûn for an Age. There were tales of the creatures that flocked to his banner, of the great slave fields of Núrn where even some Easterlings had found themselves in shackles, according to rumour. But whatever the truth of the matter, the truth he knew, was that his people were the first Men of Arda. Their cities, their culture, their civilization stood in testament to that. One god, one people, one shining light in a world that grew dark. On a people that for Ages three had been in the bed of elf-fiends and false gods.

And then there were the Variags. Savages divided into a thousand tribes, worshipping at least two-thousand gods, who might number at least 100,000 if all brought together. Riding towards the encampment with their guide, the smell of piss, shit, and dog reaching his nostrils, Shang was reminded as to why that would never happen. These people were born in the dirt, and as impeccable as their horse skills were, they still died, and their bodies returned to the dirt. Savages could be useful if pointed in the right direction, but they were savages all the same.

"Nice place," Mushu murmured.

Shang kept riding up to the walls of the encampment – wooden pikes, its 'gate' simply an opening in the wall, leading to about two-dozen tents. Either side of the entrance were iron spears, each of which had a severed head on it. Shang fought the urge to gag as their guide led them in – the flies were hard at work.

Oh to be home, he reflected. To be in Xi'an, family. With his wife, tall and fair, and his daughter, whose smile was so bright it chased away the moon. Not with these people, with squat faces and squat bodies, looking at him from their hunched lives. Some of the children got close to his horse, looking up at him with eyes full of wonder, but it wasn't long before their parents dragged them away, muttering something about "the city people" and "monsters."

Before long (but still too long for his liking), the rider led him and Mushu to the centre of the encampment. Before him was the largest tent he'd seen. Larger than even the largest command tent he'd seen in one of his campaigns against the Haradrim. For a moment, he forgot that he was in the company of a lost people. But only for a moment, as he dismounted his horse, and found his boots on grass long manured.

"You. In," the rider said, gesturing to Shang. He looked at Mushu. "You. Out."

Mushu looked at him. Shang nodded and looked at the rider.

"In alone," the rider said. "Khan waits for you."

Shang obliged, and entered the tent.

It was…something, he told himself. Wide. Filled with tables, upon which there was all matter of meats, generating an aroma that made his mouth water. Pig. Cow. Sheep. Even…

_Is that horse? _He looked up at the top of the tent, noticing the stitching between horsehide. _Waste not, want not I suppose._

Waste not, but certainly have extravagance. Because before them all, surrounded by Variags with helmet, iron, and spear, was Khan Jhangati. A muscular man with big arms, big legs, and a long, black beard, leaning back against a throne draped with furs. Shang took a breath and walked up to him. The guards remained silent. The khan just sat there.

_So, do I speak first, or…_

The khan just sat there. And Shang bowed before him. "I am-"

"You some kind of peacock?"

He rose up to his feet. "I beg your pardon?"

"A peacock," said Janghati, speaking in Khandish. "I hear your cities have peacocks."

"I…well, the gardens do, but-"

"Their heads go up and down, like this," the khan said. He rose a hand, and flipped his gnarled fingers up and down. "Silly birds for silly women who like looking at feathered friends and comparing themselves to them."

Shang didn't say anything. In part because part of that assessment was something he couldn't contest.

"Well now," said Jhangati. He leant forward. "I see you're not a peacock. And you speak Khandish, so that makes things easier for me. So, question is…why are you here?"

Shang raised an eyebrow. "The Mouth of Sauron informed me that he had informed you that I would come to you, and…" He trailed off. Jhangati was flapping his fingers again, simulating a mouth opening and closing.

"Am I wasting my time?" Shang snapped.

Jhangati kept flapping his fingers.

"Am I?" Shang repeated. "Because trust me, I have no desire to remain in this stinking, shit-ridden, horse-infested dung heap that you call home any longer than I need to."

Jhangati glared at him.

"Well?" he asked.

Jhangati leant back in his throne. "You talk a lot," he murmured. "Easterlings always talk a lot. Only they usually bring gifts. Gifts to one tribe, such as iron and gold, to make them fight against another tribe. Keeping the Variags at war with each other so your kind can play in pretty pretty cities, and drink tea with pretty peacocks, nice and far away from those of the dung heaps." He smirked. "Khan Khulai put a stop to that, didn't he?"

Shang scowled – Khan Khulai had. He'd done that, and razed entire cities in the process. It was said that one in every 500 people in Rhûn were descended from that monster, because when he wasn't killing, he was raping.

"Still," Jhangati said. "No gifts. Not from you."

Shang frowned. "I understand that Sauron the Liberator has already given you gifts."

"Yes, he has. And his so-called mouth said that some Easterling would come here bearing other words. So then." He clapped his hands. "Let's hear it, peacock. I know that Sauron is stirring, and that he seeks to make war on western lands. But what of your perspective? Why should I ally with people for whom we've been at war since the sun first rose?"

Shang, for his part, had already asked the question. Looking at Janghati, and after that, his bodyguards (still silent, and still motionless), he found himself asking it again. Why ally with the Variags at all? Sauron had risen, as surely as the sun. Why break bread with these people?

He gave the answer that had been given to him. "We are men of the East," he murmured. "Easterling, Variag, Wainrider, and yes, even Haradrim. We stayed in the light of the sun while lesser Men fled into darkness. We have survived elf-fiends, we have survived Númenor, and in spite of everything, we have survived each other." Jhangati said nothing, so he continued. "Sauron is rising," he said. "After his sacrifice in the Last Battle, when his body was broken along with the strength of elf-fiends and their Man-friends, he has finally returned to lead his to victory. To unite all mankind under the light of the sun."

"And you believe this?" Jhangati murmured. "You think the Lord Sauron does this for us?"

"I don't…the legends say that before the Last Battle, the Great Lord forged the Golden Ring. He shed his own blood for us, such was his adoration for the true inheritors of Arda."

"And?" Jhangati asked. "Have you seen him? Has he given this story to you, directly?"

"I…" Shang frowned. "No."

"And like the sun, he rises – great enough to bring Arda under one banner, not so great that he can do it alone." Jhangati scoffed. "We have a saying on the plains here, man of Rhûn – 'the horse will not accept a saddle before it has been fed.'"

Shang smiled. "It's a good saying."

"It is. Not as good of course from your own sayings that the Easterlings are the true children of the sun, and we are but savages." Jhangati smirked. "Small people, small gods. That is one of your sayings, no? Peacocks in their cities, worshipping Sauron the Great, while we can't accept your truth?"

Shang remained silent.

"Answer me, peacock."

Shang got to his feet. "Enough games. Sauron wants the Variags. He's sent his emissary to you, because he wants to unite them."

"Impossible," Jhangati said. "There are more tribes in Khand than there are stars in the sky. Many people, many tribes, and yes, many gods. All of whom think that they found the right one." He grunted. "Must be easy for you, no? One god, that you claim is the salvation of all Men? Far easier to keep your people under the same banner when you claim it is appointed from on high."

"I make no such claims," Shang said.

"But you believe them, no?"

Shang remained silent. He watched as the khan leant back in his throne. "I understand," he said. "I will admit that my dreams have whispered to me that I am to eclipse Khan Khulai. That my people will be brought under one banner – Variags all, and yes, even the mighty Wainriders. The dreams of course do not whisper that to do so I would need aid from Mordor, and yes, Rhûn, to unite the tribes. So tell me, oh peacock – if I did that today, if we rode to war today, how would you feel? What do you, Lord Lu Shang, get out of this?"

Shang didn't say anything. In part because he was silently pleased that the Mouth of Sauron had passed on his name to Janghati. In part because he knew that this was the moment when the future of Khand, and indeed, Rhûn, would be decided. If he spoke correctly, he would be remembered as the man who liberated the East. If not, he would not be remembered by the end of the month.

"Well?" Jhangati asked.

Shang took a breath. "Númenor is gone," he said. "Sauron's servant states that the elf-fiends are fleeing. They seek the comfort of false gods in the knowledge that they cannot prevent the rise of Man. But the spawn of Númenor remains. Gondor stands. If the sun is to shine over all of Arda, Gondor must fall. The West must fall. While I will never call you or your people brothers, I would call you allies. I would have us march together on the White City and tear it down, for that is the only way to end a legacy built on blood. I, Lu Shang of the city of Xi'an, would gladly ride over the fields of Pelennor under the banner of Sauron the Liberator, and bring an end to a legacy that has lasted Ages three upon this world." He extended his hand. "I would offer you my fellowship to achieve that end."

Jhangati sniffed and got to his feet. Slowly, he walked towards Shang. Closer, and closer, and closer, each step feeling as long as an Age of the world. Until he came before the Easterling. Until, after a moment, he took Shang's arm, and interlocked it with his.

"Brothers," he said. "In so far that we fight under the same banner."

Shang smiled, trying to keep his enthusiasm in check. "So you will join us?" he said. "You will fight under Sauron?"

"I will fight for my people," he said. "So, yes. I will accept aid from Mordor, and yes, aid from Rhûn. Not your pithy payments of gold to pit one tribe against another, aid in uniting them. I do not promise all my people, but when the time comes, we will ride. But on our terms. Not on that of your god, and not of Rhûn's."

Shang lowered his head. "I wouldn't think of it."

"Oh, you already have," Jhangati said. He looked at one of his bodyguards and nodded. The man went to one of the tables. "I know that you think of us as a wave of death, best only for being pointed in the right direction and let loose. Still, be it a year from now, ten, twenty or more, you will see us on the field of battle and ask who the real children of the sun are." His bodyguard came over, bearing two goblets filled with a strange liquid. "Now then, man of Rhûn. Care to join me in some mead?"

_No, _Shang reflected. _But needs must, and needs be met._

He sipped the liquid, sealing the bond.

Sealing his fate, and that of his people, from this day, to the end of the Age.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, the idea for this came from an article I read on the development of religion. Basically, the idea went that religion shifts based on the nature of the society that worships it. For instance, hunter-gatherer societies commonly have animistic beliefs - divine properties are attributed to plants, rocks, animals, etc. In contrast, societies that are post-hunter gatherer tend to have monotheistic religions, or at least polytheistic ones. As in, there's "external gods" (or a god) that is all encompassing. Basically, the idea is that the larger a society gets, the religion of said society tends to become more external and codified. Question is though, what comes first? Does religion allow society to develop into a larger, more cohesive whole, or does a larger, more cohesive society give rise to these kinds of religions?_

_Of course, there's exceptions either way, but it did give me the idea to drabble this up. And I know, _Lord of the Rings _is arguably not the best setting to do this in (since religion is rarely dealt with), but in a way, it kind of allows me to explore it more easily, since little is known of Easterling and Variag culture, though it was mentioned in _Weapons and Warfare _(I think?) about temples existing in Rhûn dedicated to the worship of Sauron and/or Morgoth. So, um, yeah._


End file.
